


Not-Quite-Destiel

by lilsmartass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Humour, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pranks, parody slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-19
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsmartass/pseuds/lilsmartass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas aren't in a relationship. Really. They're not. They can't understand why no one believes them...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Looking through fan sites for Chuck’s books, Dean finds something he didn’t expect.  
> Rating: PG  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the Winchester’s though I’d love one for my birthday. Inspired by this youtube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUUusFMjAs4&list=UUCA-cwGckMtrhixhlsL-btQ&index=1&feature=plcp which makes use of the S Club 7’s True Colours. Some dialogue taken directly from the season 4 episode The Monster at the End of this Book.  
> Warning/Spoilers: Mentions of slash and incest for comedy purposes, spoilers for 4x18, set during season 5 after 5x14 – some generic mentions of past events.  
> Genre: Humour

  
**Dean and the Internet or Why You Should Delete Your User History After Using Your Little Brother’s Laptop**

_More than a little unnerved, Dean turned another page of one of the books the guy from the comic book shop had, somewhat confusedly, sold them. His frown deepened slightly and he didn’t look at where Sam was seated clicking away on the laptop._  
  
“This is freakin' insane. How's this guy know all this stuff?”

 __  
“You got me,” Sam said, staring intently at the screen, a worried line between his brows.  
  
“Everything is in here. I mean everything. From the racist truck to -- to me having sex. I'm full-frontal in here, dude.” He exclaimed, so affronted over such a violation he failed to even register Sam’s twitch of disgust. He crossed to his brother, restless and edgy, a lifetime of needing to be hidden making his instincts scream at being so exposed. “How come we haven't heard of them before?”  
  
Sam turned back to the computer, “They're pretty obscure. I mean, almost zero circulation. Uh, started in '05. The publisher put out a couple dozen before going bankrupt. And, uh, the last one -- No Rest For The Wicked,” he turned the laptop towards Dean, the crease between his eyes deepening in pained remembrance, “ends with you going to hell.”  
  
“I reiterate. Freaking insane,” muttered Dean, clicking a couple of links and to mask his own flair of deepening unease at the reminder, “Check it out,” he said abruptly, raising his eyebrows with something approaching genuine amusement, “There’s actually fans. There’s not many of them, but still. Did you read this?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said, tonelessly, still dwelling on losing Dean.  
  
Dean tilted half a glance in his little brother’s direction and began reading aloud some of the wackier posts, trying to alleviate Sam’s distress. “Although for fans, they sure do complain a lot. Listen to this – Simpatico says ‘the demon story line is trite, clichéd, and overall craptastic.’ Yeah, well, screw you, Simpatico. We lived it.”  
  
Sam snorted and Dean’s eyes lightened, mission accomplished, “Yeah. Well, keep on reading. It gets better.” 

_“There are ‘Sam girls’ and ‘Dean girls,’” he read with incredulous glee, then his brows drew together again as he asked, “And -- what's a slash fan?”_  
  
Sam twitched, wishing he could be more amused at how his next sentence was going to affect his brother. He couldn’t even look at Dean, staring somewhere over his shoulder as he said, “As in... Sam-Slash-Dean,” he paused meaningfully, steeling himself against the next word, and finally meeting his brother’s eyes, “Together.”

 __  
Dean’s eyes widened in horror and confusion, “Like, together together?”  
  
“Yeah,” said Sam bluntly, insides curling at the very thought.  
  
“They do know we're brothers, right?” Dean said, turning his eyes back to the laptop, apparently not wanting to look at his brother while they had this conversation.  
  
“Doesn't seem to matter,” Sam said.  
  
“Oh, come on. That... That's just sick,” Dean muttered slamming the laptop shut. “We got to find this Carver Edlund.”

Dean remembered the conversation vividly. He was a master at blocking out and forgetting memories of the disgusting and usually slimy and or smelly things they fought or dug up or otherwise dealt with on a weekly basis or he’d have been driven to the nut house years ago, but a conversation that disturbing was seared irrevocably into his memory. It was one of the few things he and Sam hadn’t been able to joke about, even after they’d met Becky; especially not after they’d met Becky.

Chuck had promised not to go to publication again, but Dean doubted he’d keep his word. Like he had said, writing was his livelihood and he had a heavenly bodyguard to protect him and Chuck was a nervous self conscious little geek, but he was smart enough to realise that, in the middle of the war they were currently fighting, Sam and Dean had little time to be checking the publication of crappy pulp fiction books. Unless someone actually bought them one, Chuck was probably safe.

And now, Dean found himself wondering if there was any online discussion of something Chuck had written about recent events that might help him talk to Sam. He missed his brother. Sam had always been bull-headedly stubborn. This wild uncertainty of himself, understandable after kick starting the apocalypse, combined with the self loathing he had displayed ever since Famine had made him drink demon blood again, was completely foreign to Dean and he had no idea how to handle it.

He slid stealthily out of the bed, checking that Sam was still sleeping and took the laptop into the motel bathroom so the light wouldn’t wake him. Once online, it was easy enough to type Supernatural and Chuck’s stupid made up writing name into Google and watch it bring up results. His hand hovered over one likely looking link. He eyed the computer as he had eyed numerous enemies over the years, with determination, resolve and no small amount of uncertainty.

He clicked.

The number of slash fans seemed to have increased, though even he had to admit he’d only looked at that website for a few seconds last year. This time he was searching, intentionally reading. Even the one’s not talking about him and Sam _like that_ seemed to be unreasonably fixated on their muscles. Sure, Dean was as proud of his abs as the next guy but this...this was weird. More than one post mentioned Cas, a nugget of information Dean filed away. They hadn’t met Cas until he got back from hell so Chuck was publishing again the little bastard.

These people seemed to have their own language. Many of the posts linked him away from the discussion page he was reading to their own work; something called fanfiction. One click and an absent minded skim down the page told him he didn’t want to be reading anymore of those stories. Wincest was easy enough to decode, though it made him gag a little, as was Winsister though why anyone would want to be part of this fucked up family was beyond him. At the bottom of the second page though he came to a word he couldn’t work out. Destiel.

He hesitated. But he was braving this to see if he could find anything to help Sam, so by God, he’d do it properly. The link didn’t have any of the dreaded words he’d come over the last half hour to know and avoid.

A youtube video loaded, and before Dean could close the window, certain a youtube video couldn’t be of any use, a tinny pop song was playing from the battered speakers whilst drawn images of what was supposed to be him and what could only be Cas were...well, according to one caption _celebrating their profound bond_.

Dean made a noise of disgust and slammed the screen shut. He didn’t feel that way about Cas, Cas didn’t even know what it felt like to feel that way about anybody and even if they were going to, it would sure as hell be to some better music. He eyed the laptop one last time and then conceded defeat and picked it up to leave the room. He replaced the laptop where Sam had left it and got back into bed. He’d always been able to help Sam in the past, and he hadn’t needed any weirdo internet freaks to help him. This time would be no different.

He fell asleep mentally compiling a list of tried and trusted methods of making Sammy feel better.

A list he was damn sure not going to make use of, he decided when he woke to Sam’s unholy smile of glee, off-key rendition of a song he was happily informed was S Club 7’s _True Colours_ and the certain knowledge that he had not only forgotten to delete his user history, but had left the youtube window open and playing.


	2. Dean’s New Pyjamas or How Little Brothers Take Revenge on Overprotective Big Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Sequel to Dean and the Internet which is based on this youtube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUUusFMjAs4&list=UUCA-cwGckMtrhixhlsL-btQ&index=1&feature=plcp  
> Rating: PG-13 for some swearing.  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the SPN characters, though I’d love a Winchester for my birthday. The youtube video which inspired this series makes use of S Club 7’s True Colours. And you really can buy PJs like this – my BFF has some. Cafepress is also the real site which sells them.  
> Warning/Spoilers: Mentions of slash for humour purposes. Minor mention of events in It’s a Terrible Life.  
> Genre: Humour

**Previously:**

“What are you two _giggling_ about?” Dean asked as he entered the room, surprised and suspicious eyes roving over where Sam was leaning to see what Bobby had found on the laptop.

“Nothing,” said Sam, not even starting guiltily.

Dean just stared at them in distrustful silence. “You were _giggling_ ,” he reiterated, disgust evident, “like prepubescent girls.”

Finally wiping the smirk off his face, Sam straightened himself from where he was leaning over Bobby’s chair and made his way over to Dean. “It’s nothing,” he reassured, “just-” there was the slightest of hesitations, a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh, “just _The Ghostfacers_ internet tutorials.”

“Right,” nothing that could light up his brother like that could be a bad thing, not after what they’d been through in the past few months but _The Ghostfacers_ was more benign than his suspicions. At least it wasn’t him being humiliated. “C’mon, I need help getting this crap out of the ‘Pala.”

Wordlessly, Sam began following his brother’s retreating back and, humming _Smoke on the Water_ , Dean failed to notice Sam turning round to mouth, ‘buy them’ to Bobby, the double thumbs up he got in return, or the fact that the computer had no speakers hooked up to it and couldn’t possible have been displaying _The Ghostfacers..._

 

**The Present Day**

“I can take care of myself you know Dean, I’m not a teenager anymore. I’m not fuckin’ helpless,” Sam said for the third time in an hour, his tense grip jerked on the wheel and the car swerved sharply.

“Whoa Sammy,” Dean said, his sightless state making the swerve seem even more erratic. “You’re pissed with me, I get it. Don’t take it out on my baby.”

The car slowed a little, Sam’s concession to how discomforted he would never admit to being by being unable to see. “You’re just lucky the curse’ll only last for a few hours.” He continued after a moment, because Sam could never leave well enough alone.

“But it does, and I’m fine,” Dean repeated.

Sam huffed his frustration. “There was no need for you to get hurt in the first place. I was fine. I had the shot.”

“She was about to throw her witchy powder at you!”

“I can step out of the way as quickly as the next man Dean! You didn’t have to tackle me!”

“Whatever. How much further to Bobby’s?”

There was a crunch as rubber left road. “We’re here.”

“Good. I’m sick of listening to you bitch at me.”

An offended silence was his only answer and Dean promptly felt bad. He knew Sam was only worried about him and relieved his blindness was only temporary and ok yes, in retrospect jumping in front of the spell he’d being trying to save Sam from hadn’t been the best move, but it hadn’t been intentional either. He sighed minutely. Sam just didn’t understand big brother instincts.

The tense unhappy silence lasted as Sam helped him out of the Impala and through the labyrinth of cars in the yard to the house. “Stairs,” his brother grunted as they reached the porch and Dean clunked up the familiar rickety steps without stumbling. He squeezed Sam’s arm slightly in gratitude but Sam didn’t relax though Dean felt him looking towards him. He could just imagine the dewy softness of his brother’s eyes too.

“I just did what had to be done bitch,” he said, softly, apologetically.

Sam huffed a noise of understanding, but still didn’t unwind as he steered Dean into the house.

“What are you boy’s covered in?” Bobby demanded.

“I- what? Sam? What’re we covered in?” questioned Dean, wrong footed at not knowing something as obvious as the fact that they looked out of place enough for that to be Bobby’s first question without his knowledge.

Sam’s calm, “Stuff. Some weird witch mud,” diffused some of his panic and even as he opened his mouth Sam said calmly, “and yes Dean, I put towels on the seats before we got in the damn car.”

“Dean? You alright boy?”

“I’m fine,” Dean answered, or tried to, but Sam was already talking over him in a risingly hysterical and somewhat dramatised version of events. Dean left him to it, he was going to get showered, get free of the weird witch mud and get some sleep. It wasn’t like he’d gotten himself killed, he thought; Sam was making a big fuss over nothing.

“Calm down Sam,” he heard Bobby say as he left the room, fingers trailing along the wall to guide him. At least no one stopped him. Sam had bandaged him up through more injuries than he cared to count and he’d nursed him through numerous illnesses too, but he drew the line at his baby brother helping him shower when he was fine!

Sam took a deep breath. “I know Bobby, I’m sorry I just...I hate it when he does stupid reckless things. If he’d just _yelled_...neither of us needed to get hit.”

Bobby turned away, busying himself with something on the table. “I know,” he said evenly, “It’s damned frustrating when people with the surname Winchester do stupid things because they’re more concerned with their family’s lives than their own.” Sam’s bitch face left him unmoved. “Want help getting your duffels out of the Impala?”

“Only if you don’t mind us using your machine. We haven’t had time to do laundry in weeks; I don’t think we’ve got a clean shirt between us.”

“Naw, bring it in, but what’re you going to change into?”

Sam turned an expression on him that would have been more suited to a week old kitten left in the snow than a six foot some man who hunted demons professionally.

Bobby sighed, “I’ve probably got some stuff of yours around. You’ll have to have a poke around the back bedroom, see what you left here the last time.”

Sam smiled widely, his dimples taking ten years off his face, “That’ll do _me_ fine,” he stressed.

“And Dean?” Bobby questioned warily.

“Remember that website you found? Cafepress? Did the stuff ever arrive?”

Bobby’s face was a study in amusement. “Sam! You can’t take advantage of your poor blind brother like that!”

Sam’s eyebrow rose, “ _Someone_ needs to show him I’m not helpless, and you know you want to see him wearing them.”

Bobby took off his cap and scratched at the back of his head as he shook it. “On your head be it. I’m having nothing to do with another of these prank wars of yours. The one you boys had the summer you were twelve nearly took out my damn kitchen.”

Sam nodded solemnly, and followed Bobby as he went to retrieve, what the elder hunter was beginning to think might have been an ill advised, purchase.

When Dean emerged from his shower, still towelling his hair he found Sam waiting for him. “Hey,” his little brother’s voice sounded strangled and Dean was hit with the horrific idea that Sam might have been crying. Had this really shaken him that badly? His heart twisted slightly, he knew how he felt when Sammy got hurt protecting him. He’d hate this if their situations were reversed. Unaware of his racing thoughts, Sam went on in the same strangled voice, “All our stuff’s dirty but Bobby’s got these you can borrow to sleep in so you’re...y’know...not covered in gloop.”

Dean took the proffered peace offering, “Thanks Sammy,” he said, taking the opportunity blindness offered to fumble and grasp his brother’s wrist in a slight squeeze. “Help me make sure the T-shirt isn’t back to front?”

Sam inhaled a gasp sharply. Shit, Sam was even more emo than usual tonight. But before Dean could say anything, unreasonably large hands were helping him with the T-shirt. “I’m guessing you can handle the other half yourself?” Sam said, laughing obviously now. Dean glowered at his apparently bipolar brother and stalked into the bathroom to finish dressing.

There was something obviously off with both Sam and Bobby for the rest of the night and the guilt ate into Dean as it slowly dawned on him how dehabilitating this injury would be if it were permanent, or even longer term than the rest of the evening. He’d be blind, helpless and still on both heaven and hell’s shit list. Not a position he’d have been comfortable in. No wonder it’d riled both Sam and Bobby so badly. Eventually, unable to take it any longer he slipped off to bed earlier than usual to sleep off the remainder of the affects.

He struggled slowly out of the unconsciousness the safety of Bobby’s back bedroom had always offered,  to find Sam, in the adjacent bed, watching him with a slightly dopey smile, “What’re you staring at Sasquatch?” he murmured into the pillow.

“You can see me?”

He hadn’t thought it would be possible for Sam’s smile to grow but somehow it did, “Of course I can see you,” he grumped. “The witch told you I’d be fixed by morning.” He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and the blanket fell from his shoulders to pool at his waist.

“Good, that’s good,” said Sam in the strangled voice from last night.

Dean shot a sharp look at him, but with the benefit of his sight it was obvious that the strain was holding back laughter, not tears. At Dean’s realisation, Sam’s eyes widened in his _uh-oh busted_ look and he began to ease out of bed, edging towards the door.

Dean stood too. They were too old to go chasing one another around Bobby’s house in their PJs, so if he had to beat it out of Sam, he had to do it here. “Sam?” he asked, in his best impression of John Winchester’s voice.

Sam made a noise that might have been denial, explanation or choked giggle, but the flicker of his eyes down Den’s torso was all the cue Dean needed to look down at himself.

The pyjamas he was wearing were unfamiliar, but that was to be expected, he had after all, borrowed something of Bobby’s. The black T-shirt with the unfamiliar logo wasn’t something he’d have expected the older hunter to own though and his brow furrowed as he read the words, upside down from his perspective, emblazoned over what appeared to be feathery wings.

“Sammy,” Dean said, in his deadliest voice, not hearing a rustle behind him, “Why am I wearing a T-shirt that says _I grabbed you tight and raised you from perdition_ and has an angel on it?”

Sam didn’t answer, looking in horror-struck silence over Dean’s shoulder. Dean had taught him that trick though and if Sammy thought he was going to fall for something so obvious-

“Dean,” said a deep and oh-too-familiar gravelly voice behind him, “Why does your shirt have my likeness on the back of it?”

Dean could actually feel every drop of blood in his body race to his face to paint his features with an almost painful blush of the sort of embarrassment he hadn’t felt since dad had caught him in the Impala trying to lose his virginity to Susi McAllister. Sam took the opportunity to lunge for the door.

“Get him,” said Dean softly and he and Castiel surged forwards.

   


	3. Sam’s Revenge or Why Big Brothers Shouldn’t Assume Little Brothers Can’t Take Care of Themselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Companion piece to Dean’s New Pyjamas from Sam’s POV. This series (yes, dear God, it’s somehow become a series) is based on this youtube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUUusFMjAs4&list=UUCA-cwGckMtrhixhlsL-btQ&index=1&feature=plcp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 for some swearing.  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the SPN characters, though I’d love a Winchester for my birthday. The youtube video which inspired this series makes use of S Club 7’s True Colours. And you really can buy PJs like this – my BFF has some. Cafepress is also the real site which sells them.   
> Warning/Spoilers: Mentions of slash for humour purposes. Minor mention of events in It’s a Terrible Life and of generic occurrences during the latter half of Season 5.  
> Genre: Humour  
> A/N: Read Dean’s New Pyjamas first, this one is funnier if you know the punchline.

**Previously:**

Sam heard Dean coming, even over his and Bobby’s laughter. They were safe here after all, and making no attempt to be subtle.

“What are you two _giggling_ about?” he asked as he entered the room,

Sam felt a moment of sinking sensation at Dean’s roving suspicious gaze, but immediately relaxed, Bobby was with him and his vice had only ever been demon blood, not something he was likely to find online.

“Nothing,” Sam answered.

Dean’s scowl deepened. To Sam, his uncertainty was clear in his voice as he repeated, “You were _giggling_ , like prepubescent girls.”

Finally wiping the smirk off his face, Sam straightened himself from where he was leaning over Bobby’s chair and made his way over to Dean. “It’s nothing,” he reassured, realising that Dean thought he might be showing Bobby a certain, slightly compromising youtube video. Which he wasn’t, he wouldn’t do that to Dean. Well, he might, but he’d make damn sure Dean never knew about it. “It’s just-” he continued, still swallowing laughter because, to be honest what Bobby had found all on his own wasn’t that much better, “just _The Ghostfacers_ internet tutorials,” he managed eventually.

“Right,” Dean said, in obvious belief. His bright smile to match Sam’s made the younger brother falter for a moment, maybe he shouldn’t...but no. Things were almost back to normal between him and Dean and normal for the Winchesters had always involved, harmless, if embarrassing pranks.  “C’mon, I need help getting this crap out of the ‘Pala.”

Sam followed him instantly, unthinkingly, almost joining in with Dean’s absent humming of _Smoke on the Water_ , but he turned back to mouth ‘buy them’ to Bobby and receive a double thumbs up and snort of laughter in return. Still grinning, Sam set about unloading the car as he wondered how he could convince Dean to _wear_ his new present.

**The Present Day**

“I can take care of myself you know Dean, I’m not a teenager anymore. I’m not fuckin’ helpless,” Sam said yet again, just to break the silence that gave him far too much time to replay the memory of Dean writhing on the ground, clutching his face. He was still shaking, and his vented anger made him flinch. He jerked the steering wheel hard to correct the swerve.

“Whoa Sammy, you’re pissed with me, I get it. Don’t take it out on my baby.”

Sam snarled non verbally. It was just like Dean to care about what he was doing to the car more than he cared about his _damn_ eyesight. A sideways look at his older brother though softened him. Slightly. Dean was staring dead ahead, uncertainty playing over his features, obviously hating not knowing where they were. He slowed down a little, and then said, “You’re just lucky the curse’ll only last for a few hours.” He thanked God every time he thought of that himself.

“But it does, and I’m fine,” Dean repeated, like a recording. _I’m fine Sammy_ was his default setting, and that thought made Sam clench his jaw so tightly together that he was surprised Dean couldn’t hear his teeth grind. Weren’t the blind supposed to have incredible hearing?

“There was no need for you to get hurt in the first place. I was fine. I had the shot.”

“She was about to throw her witchy powder at you!” Dean argued. He never could understand that sometimes his _throw myself in between Sam and danger_ attitude was the wrong approach. Sam appreciated the thought, he did, truly, but he’d lived without Dean once. The thought of doing so again left him cold.

“I can step out of the way as quickly as the next man Dean! You didn’t have to tackle me!”

“Whatever. How much further to Bobby’s?”

“We’re here.” Sam said shortly.

“Good. I’m sick of listening to you bitch at me.”

Sam fell silent, hurt at his brother’s words. When Sam did it, it was bitching. When it was Dean pointing out that _Sam_ had been cavalier with his safety, it was necessary. And the last time Sam had been on the other side of this conversation he’d only had a twisted ankle; Dean was _blind_ short term though it may be.

He didn’t slam the door because he thought if he had to listen to Dean criticise how he was treating the car one more time, he might deck him, and though he just wanted to leave Dean where was, and show him how stupid his actions had been by forcing him to navigate blind and vulnerable the few feet to the house – like dad probably would have done – he couldn’t bring himself to. He was rougher than usual as he silently guided Dean past the gutted cars sitting at Singer Salvage’s outside. “Stairs,” he muttered as they reached them, but ignored Dean’s squeeze of gratitude. He didn’t want Dean to be grateful, he wanted him to be more careful next time he thought, tears filling his eyes.

“I just did what had to be done bitch,” Dean said softly as they entered.

It was as close to an apology as he was likely to get and Sam grunted his understanding, but the tension, the fear of realising Dean couldn’t see didn’t leave him. And apology though it was, it wasn’t a promise to refrain from similar actions.

“What are you boy’s covered in?” Bobby demanded.

“I- what? Sam? What’re we covered in?” questioned Dean, and Sam’s heart clenched once again at the edge in Dean’s voice. He hadn’t known what a mess they were, and the sudden shock of that had discomfited him more than anything Sam had said in the last hour.

“Stuff,” he said calmly, trying to raise a smile on Dean’s face, and off Bobby’s glare elaborating, “Some weird witch mud,” even as Dean began to speak he continued, “and yes Dean, I put towels on the seats before we got in the damn car.”

“Dean? You alright boy?”

Dean began to say something – _I’m fine Sammy_ – but Sam wasn’t having it. “He got himself blasted in the face by some witch bitch and now he’s blind for the rest of the fuckin’ night,” he explained to Bobby, his anger getting the better of him. He watched Dean shrug, and begin to leave out of the corner of his eye. His footsteps were less sure than usual and his hand was on the wall, but otherwise he was fine. “He could’ve been killed, could have been permanently- but the _stupid idiot_ decided to shove me out of the way, which he didn’t need to do, I’d’ve shot her about half a second later before she’d even thrown the damn stuff, instead of just shouting like a _normal person_!”

“Calm down Sam,” Bobby soothed.

Sam took a deep breath. He felt better getting that off his chest, but the horrible black fury and fear was still in his chest. “I know Bobby, I’m sorry I just...I hate it when he does stupid reckless things. If he’d just _yelled_...neither of us needed to get hit.”

Bobby turned away, busying himself with something on the table. “I know,” he said evenly, “It’s damned frustrating when people with the surname Winchester do stupid things because they’re more concerned with their family’s lives than their own.” Sam scowled at him, but said nothing. It had used to drive him up the wall when dad did things like this and when Dean did it, it near enough gave him seizures. He didn’t think Bobby was being terrible helpful or sympathetic, but give the man his credit he had to put up with this from all three of them. “Want help getting your duffels out of the Impala?” Bobby offered.

Sam seized the change of subject gratefully. “Only if you don’t mind us using your machine. We haven’t had time to do laundry in weeks; I don’t think we’ve got a clean shirt between us.”

“Naw, bring it in, but what’re you going to change into?”

It was sentences like that that let him know, no matter how old he was, that he would always be the little brother. Dean would’ve already had an answer; Sam just looked to Bobby for guidance.

Bobby sighed, “I’ve probably got some stuff of yours around. You’ll have to have a poke around the back bedroom, see what you left here the last time.”

The words gave Sam an idea. It was a prank that he’d been waiting for the right moment to pull on Dean and now was the time. It’d give him bragging rights for at least a week and be well worth the added trouble of checking that Dean hadn’t added anything unpleasant to his drinks or maybe his shoes or bed for the next month. And, it’d have the added bonus of teaching Dean a lesson for frightening him so badly. He grinned. “That’ll do _me_ fine.”

“And Dean?” Bobby questioned warily.

“Remember that website you found? Cafepress? Did the stuff ever arrive?”

Bobby’s smirked back. “Sam! You can’t take advantage of your poor blind brother like that!”

Sam raised an eyebrow in challenge, an expression which, to Bobby’s eye, made him look uncannily like John when he chose to pull out the insouciant charm instead of his usual jackassery, “ _Someone_ needs to show him I’m not helpless, and you know you want to see him wearing them.”

“On your head be it,” answered the older hunter, fiddling with his cap. “I’m having nothing to do with another of these prank wars of yours. The one you boys had the summer you were twelve nearly took out my damn kitchen.”

With a nod Sam followed him, wondering if Bobby would let him use the camera or if he’d feel that was too much.

Pyjamas in hand, he headed upstairs to wait for Dean coming out of the shower. He used the wait to do several breathing exercises in an attempt to stop his almost uncontrollable...well...giggling. But he couldn’t really begrudge himself the sound, besides, when Dean was dressed in these, giggling or otherwise he’d still be the manliest Winchester. “Hey,” he said when the door opened, then had to breathe in again as another laugh tried to escape. “All our stuff’s dirty but Bobby’s got these you can borrow to sleep in so you’re...y’know...not covered in gloop.”

Dean reached for what he was holding, taking a moment to grab his wrist and hold tight, “Thanks Sammy,” he said. “Help me make sure the T-shirt isn’t back to front?”

Another giggle tried to escape out of him, even as he wondered if Dean really deserved this. He was obviously trying to apologise in their fucked up way. But after a second he knew he just couldn’t resist the opportunity this offered him and he quickly helped Dean into the shirt. “I’m guessing you can handle the other half yourself?” he said when he was done. It wasn’t a very good line, but he was grateful for an outlet for some of the laughter building inside him anyway. Dean flounced away with a scowl and Sam had to hold onto the wall to keep from falling at just how _precious_ his fearless big brother looked flouncing anywhere in those pyjamas.

It was all Sam and Bobby could do not to crack up into uncontrollable hysterics as they watched Dean drink his beer wearing Castiel pyjamas. Sam kept having to wipe his streaming eyes and he was almost certain he’d cracked at least one rib trying not to laugh. The result was a very quiet, if highly amusing evening and he wasn’t surprised when Dean got bored and headed to bed early. Sam would’ve liked to do the same, he was exhausted, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep until he was certain that the witch had been telling the truth and that Dean’s eyes were fine. Instead, he took the opportunity offered to keep the light on without disturbing Dean to catch up on some reading and research, making notes in an old notebook as he worked through Bobby’s copy of _Paradise Lost_ which he hadn’t read since school, wondering if it might have any insights into Lucifer.

By six he was under the blankets to keep warm, but still wide awake and watching Dean for the tell tale flickers of life which would tell him his brother was waking. “What’re you staring at Sasquatch?” Dean muttered, about two hours later, eyes cracking open.

“You can see me?” Sam said, joy and relief rushing through him. _Thank God, thank God, thank God_.

“Of course I can see you,” Dean grumped, Sam’s smile didn’t waver. He knew Dean’s grumping was just his older brother’s form of relief. “The witch told you I’d be fixed by morning.” He sat up; rubbing sleep from his eyes and the blanket fell from his shoulders to pool at his waist.

“Good, that’s good,” Sam said, struggling to hold back a laugh. He’d forgotten what Dean was wearing.

Dean glanced at him, and from the tightening of his eyes, Sam knew he’d seen that Sam was hiding something. Sam slipped from the bed, wondering if he could edge around Dean and lock himself in the bathroom before Dean worked out what his T-shirt said. Last night all he’d been able to think of was how vulnerable Dean was, how fragile, how easily hurt. This morning, eyesight fully restored, he looked fully capable of beating Sam’s ass six ways to Sunday when he realised what his little brother had done.

Dean stood too. “Sam?” he demanded, in the same tone dad had always used.

Sam opened his mouth to explain, or deny or maybe just apologise and beg for Dean’s forgiveness before his brother started plotting a suitable revenge, but all that escaped was a slightly hysterical laugh, so Sam shut his mouth quickly. He couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to the T-shirt though and that slight motion was enough to alert Dean who glanced down at himself.

His brow furrowed as he read, and his lips tightened, a blush dinting his cheek bones. “Sammy,” Dean said, in a deadly voice, but Sam didn’t hear what he said next. Castiel had, inexplicably just popped into the room right behind Dean. Sam felt his eyes widen, his face pale. Dean was going to _kill_ him stone dead. He wouldn’t even have to worry about Lucifer; Dean was going to make sure he never had to worry about anything ever again. The Winchester rules on pranks were very simple, the more humiliating the better, but never where someone else might see.

“Dean,” Castiel began in his deep, even voice, “Why does your shirt have my likeness on the back of it?”

The blush that rushed to paint Dean’s features was so bright Sam was pretty sure he could be used as a warning beacon in the ocean. Out of other options he lunged for the door. Pride be damned he was going to go and hide behind Bobby until Dean calmed down a bit.

“Get him,” said Dean softly and he and Castiel surged forwards.

  


	4. Five Times Cas Helped Dean out in a Socially Questionable Way or Why It Is Completely Reasonable that Sam Assumed they were Dating like it Said on the Internet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Part of the Dean and the Internet series, but this one is inspired by: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dM2bBP7j0s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 for some swearing.  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the SPN characters, though I’d love a Winchester for my birthday. The youtube video showcases the video talent of ramseybaggs http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dM2bBP7j0s and uses We Found Love by Rihanna.   
> Warning/Spoilers: Mentions of slash for humour purposes. Assumed knowledge of events up to mid season 6. Set sometime after Sam gets his soul back.  
> Genre: Humour. This is all supposed to be funny; no offense is intended to either Destiel or Wincest fans and it should not be taken seriously by anyone.

**Now**

_“I thought we’d called a truce,” Dean demands angrily, striding into Sam’s room without knocking and waving his own room key in his brother’s face._

_Sam looks up, non-plussed from where he is already seated in front of his laptop despite having only been in the room for about fifteen seconds. He gapes into his older brother’s furious and slightly betrayed looking face. “What are you talking about?” he asks, patiently, because if he doesn’t make Dean start at the beginning he could end up listening to a rant of epic proportions with no way of understanding it._

_“I thought we weren’t pulling pranks anymore?”_

_Sam raises an eyebrow. “We’re not...whatever gross thing you’ve found in your bag is legitimately yours. I’ve been telling you to clean out your junk food stash for months.”_

_Dean’s face darkens further. “The beds Sammy, the beds,” he said, his tone just shy of hysterical. “We’re not pranking, but you think it’s funny to get me a room with a queen bed and tell me I’m sharing with Cas?”_

_Sam’s confusion only increases. “I didn’t know you’d be so...it’s not like I’m judging...I know about you two. I thought I was doing you a favour.”_

_“You know?!” Dean shrieks, reaching a pitch only audible to dogs._

_“Yeah Dean, I_ know _. You two aren’t exactly as discreet as you think you are.”_

_Dean splutters incoherently. “Know what? There’s nothing to know.”_

_“Dean, man. I don’t care, and Cas is hot if you’re into that sort of thing.”_

_“_ I am not into Cas, _” Dean hisses, low and certain, pushing Sam bodily into the wall._

_“You’re not? But what about...”_

**Example 1**

It was at times like these, that Dean really missed Sam, even as he was for once grateful for instantaneous angel transporter technology. Sam was out, questioning the families of the victims, trying to find out what they had all had in common which had attracted some supernatural beast to come after them all. Dean had decided to scope out the area where they had died one more time, and yeah, he knew what had gone after them. A Kelpie, a fucking Kelpie. He had been lucky to fight it off himself and now he was soaked to the bone and freezing in Minnesota, in February _why had he and Sam stopped the gods of mild weather again?_ He wondered vaguely as he wandered along. _Why had he leant Sam the car?_

He didn’t even have his damn car, so he had to walk in the knee high snow. He’d actually stopped shivering by the time Cas made an appearance, though he was having a hard time remembering why that was bad. Cas regarded him, and Dean wondered if he could walk on snow like that elf in that movie Sam liked or if angels sank into the icy drifts the same as the rest of them. “You are cold,” Cas had commented tonelessly. Dean had just blinked, too exhausted and numb to even think of a comeback, much less utter one. “Come, I will take you to the motel,” Cas had said, and taken a firm grip on Dean’s scarred shoulder.

Of course, back in the motel, it turned out that the heater wasn’t working. At least out of the wind Dean had started shivering again, teeth chattering too much to be coherent and limbs shaking too much to be of any use in undressing himself. Cas frowned in a puzzled fashion at his purple tinged lips. “You must be warmed,” he said, helping Dean pull of his wet clothing.

Dean balked as Cas went to remove his boxers, and strode – well, wobbled – over to the bathroom to grab a towel to cover himself. Cas had never really understood modesty though and pulled the towel from Dean’s hands with his inhumanly strong grip to begin drying Dean’s wet and icy hair while Dean stood, red faced, naked and shaking but at least warm enough to sputter, “What the fuck Cas?”

He couldn’t deny though that the angel’s warmer body felt nice standing as close as he was, not that Dean wouldn’t hit Cas in his expressionless nerd angel face if he suggested cuddling for body heat, but it was at least tolerable to stand and let Cas get the last of the snow and slivers of ice out of his hair. At least it was until the door banged open with another gust of frigid wind and Sam walked in.   

**Now**

“ _I had hypothermia you idiot!_ ” _Dean says, “Cas was...well...he’s got no real grasp on personal space and boundaries and I was out of it because I was mostly frozen to death.”_

_Sam nods, still blushing from reliving having walked in on such an intimate scene._

_“Sam, I swear I’m going to beat you to death if you don’t drop this. Cas is a friend. That’s it.”_

_“Dean you really don’t have to be embarrassed-”_

_“I told you, it was just hypothermia.”_

_“There’s more.”_

**Example 2**

At first, it was just checking in on them. Since Castiel had added the angel proofing Enochian symbols to their ribs which made them impossible to track or to trace he had gotten into the habit of ringing each evening to ascertain their location. Depending on who was nearer to the phone and who was in the shower, or stuffing their face with the last slice of pizza, or in the least pissy mood with the world in general, depended on who would answer it. Cas wasn’t exactly the world’s most riveting conversationalist, but knowing that there was at least one angel out there who cared about them, who was looking out for them, made Sam feel safe, made him sleep easier.

And then, even if Sam was the one who picked up the phone, Cas started asking for Dean. And then Dean just started habitually keeping the phone near to him, and glancing at it as night drew in, waiting for the angel’s call. Eventually, what had once been a short ritual of establishing whereabouts and mutual safety became Dean chattering with the angel on the hone for an hour, if Castiel didn’t simply decide to turn up at the motel itself, sometimes taking the phone into the bathroom for a little added privacy.

On these occasions, Sam simply smirked to himself and turned the TV up a little. He had always known his brother was something of a slut, it didn’t surprise him that Dean batted for both teams and if the angel made Dean happy, gave him some solace then Sam was happy too. It wasn’t as though he was expecting to survive his confrontation with Lilith, and Dean would need someone to pick up the pieces afterwards.

**Now**

_“That was about the demon blood!”_

_“What?”_

_“The. Demon. Blood. You were the only one who trusted Ruby and me and Cas...we weren’t sure what you might be telling her, what she might be reporting to others. So a lot of things, we just decided it was safest if you didn’t know.”_

_That stung, but Sam could see the logic behind it. If the situation had been reversed he might have been driven to do the same thing. It still hurts though, to know his brother had distrusted him to that degree and to imagine Dean shutting himself behind closed doors not to whisper sweet nothings to a lover, but to prevent his junkie-demon’s whore brother overhearing the plans that might save the world. “Yeah OK,” he mutters, subdued. Then he brightens again, “but what about the dreams?”_

_“What dreams?” Dean’s tone has turned icy. Sam has seen that tone make demons rethink their options, but Dean won’t hurt him. Probably._

_That does not change the fact that bringing up the dreams had seemed an easy way to score cheap points, he’s determined to make Dean admit this. Dean is always on his case about hiding things, but he’s been hiding this for months, and Sam has been biding his time and being patient, but enough is enough. “Uh...” he said, because none of that meant he actually wanted to be forced to_ describe _Dean’s dreams._

**Example 3**

Growing up as they had privacy was a novelty that left both Winchester brothers feeling a little unsafe. Both were at their most relaxed when they could hear the other moving about in the other room while they went through the motions of showering or brushing their teeth, or breathing steadily in the other bed, a lullaby which had always lulled one or the other of them to sleep. Of course, in such close quarters, there were bound to be a few problems with two fully grown adult men, and Sam couldn’t count the number of times he had either rolled onto his side and feigned sleep at the sound of his brother having some five fingered fun as it were, or, when Dean’s moans had grown too loud to be acceptable had simply coughed pointedly, which usually shut Dean up instantly. Probably ruined his fun too, but if he was going to scar Sam like that, Sam didn’t feel particularly sorry.

On this night though Dean was obviously trying his best to be quiet and not be an ass about what he was all too obviously getting up to. His breath had been kept to harsh pants and bitten off whines instead of the full throated moans he sometimes indulged in, and it was the wrong side of 3am, Dean really had no reason to believe he’d be disturbing anyone. So Sam lay, not listening exactly because, whatever Becky and her ilk might think Dean was his brother and no, just no, but comforted by the slight background noise because it was the sound of growing up and of home, and if nothing else it meant Dean was awake so someone has his back.

He had actually almost fallen entirely asleep, when he heard the slight stutter of breathing which experience tells him means Dean will be shutting up in just a few seconds and the muted groan of someone biting down hard on their lip to keep from screaming. And then, into the silence, came a gently whispered, “ _Cas..._ ” Dean fell asleep quickly after that, but Sam lay awake. Wondering.

**Now**

_“Cassie!” Dean is now insisting hysterically. “Not that it is_ any _business of yours what’s in my spank bank, and for the record, listening to be jerk off and analysing my fantasies is creepy, but it’s Cassie. Not Cas.”_

_“Cassie?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“But that was...she was years ago man.” There is undeniable scepticism in Sam’s voice._

_“She was...worth remembering. Hot, bendy, tiger in the sack. Sometimes a guy feels a little nostalgic.”_

_“Oh...well that’s...sorry man. I wasn’t listening or anything.”_

_Dean stalks over to the window in a sulk. “Are we done now? Do you believe me? Or do I have to bring a chick back here and bang her in front of you before you believe that I like girls?”_

_Sam set his face into an obstinate frown. “But what about your birthday?”_

_“_ What _about my birthday?”_

**Example 4**

It was shaping up to be a really good night. Sam’s non life threatening, but admittedly inconvenient knee injury had had them laid up at Bobby’s since boxing day and Bobby had been remarkably helpful about helping Sam organise a party, especially when Ellen and Jo had agreed to come and help out and celebrate too. They have enough sugar to give the five of them diabetes, enough beer to give all five of them alcohol poisoning and kids batman part plates. Tonight, if only for tonight, Sam intended to vanquish the memories of hell which he had never been able to forget.

It seemed to be working. Dean was grinning from ear to ear, looking younger than he had since before the deal, maybe even before dad’s deal. The smile which suited him. His plate was piled high with donuts, skittles, cake and the thing that Bobby made which he claims is pie, but looked like no pie Sam had ever seen. He only brightened when Castiel appeared abruptly, looking around in, what was for him, a slightly alarmed manner at the gathered, tipsy hunters and clutching a brightly wrapped something tightly.

“Cas,” Dean said, heading towards him and showering the floor with skittles due to the sailors weave the seventh beer had added to his walk.

“Presents are traditional to honour one’s birth,” Cas said, thrusting the whatever-it-was at Dean so hard that most of what was on his plate glopped slowly to the floor as the thrust out an arm to receive it. Dean didn’t seem to mind. Or notice. “Hey, Cas brought me a present, how come none of you got me presents?”

“I got you a present,” muttered Sam.

“Ammo doesn’t count as a present Sammy.”

“I got you M&M’s!”

“Cas’ is bigger, he wins.” Jo choked on an audible snigger and Ellen threw her an extremely disapproving look. For his part, Sam was too transfixed at the sight of Dean trying to unwrap his gift without losing his grip on either his beer or what was left of the sticky conglomeration on his plate. Bobby rolled forward and took it from him. “Thanks Bobby,” Dean beamed and, with both hands now free, attacked the scarlet wrapping with relish.

Out fell a pair of navy jeans, that Sam could tell, even from this angle would be extremely figure hugging.

“Ummm,” said Dean.

“You do not like them,” said the angel. “I can purchase something else.”

“No, no,” said Dean, clutching the jeans tighter, reacting almost on pure instinct to the troubled whipped puppy look on Cas’ face. “I like them. I love them.”

Sam could no longer resist the grin. “Dude, they’ll look like they’re painted onto your ass.”

“They’re fine,” said Dean tensely.

“He has a point son,” sniggered Bobby, “You bend over in those and they’ll rip. You’ll never be able to hunt in those. Sure Sam’ll appreciate the picture you’ll be in them though.”

Sam made a face, and this time it was Jo’s grin that brightened. “I think they’ll suit you,” she chirped, her voice hovering perilously between flirting and mocking.

Cas turned to his unlikely ally, “Gabriel said they would be an appropriate gift,” he explained, doing the determined not-shuffle Sam had seen him do before when he failed to understand a social circumstance.

Sam’s restraint buckled and he out his hands on his knees as he collapsed into fully fledged laughter.

**Now**

_“It was my birthday. And Gabriel totally tricked him into buying me sex jeans, you know he has no understanding of what passes as acceptable. And by the way, while we’re on the subject, you and Bobby were kind of dicks.”_

_“We were not!”_

_“Yes, you kinda were. The poor guy was trying to do a nice thing, and you made him feel like an idiot.”_

_“We’re sorry.” There is a pause. “...But...don’t you think you’re being a bit...protective?”_

_“I’m not being friggin’...OK...Yes, I am, because he’s a friend and you were an ass.”_

_Sam looks at the slightly manic look etching his brother’s face. The wild look in his eyes has the ring of truth. “You’re...you’re really not?” he says, hesitantly._

_“Give the man a medal and tell him what he’s won,” Dean hisses, vicious irritation and amusement rolling together to create a sibilant rasp._

_The smile falls off Sam’s face,_ _“Dean, I really am sorry. I just thought...you know what, it doesn’t matter.” There was a longer and more awkward pause than either of the Winchesters usually indulged in. “I do have one more questions though.”_

_Dean buried his face in his hands. “Kill me now.”_

**Example 5**

Sam was still almost laughing even hours later. “So this profound bond...” he started.

“Shut up,” Dean growled, and something in his tone made Sam do just that.

His appraising gaze swept Dean, who blushed under the scrutiny and stomped into the bathroom to put a locked door between them, but not before Sam had seen what he couldn’t hide in his eyes, even after the rigours of hell had hardened him, his brother’s eyes still hid nothing, nothing from Sam’s gaze at least. He was embarrassed, but that was to be expected after Cas’ less-than-ideal statement, and Sam’s relentless teasing, but it was deeper than that. It took Sam a moment to parse out the jumbled tangle but with a jolt it occurs to him that Dean is, at least on some level, _pleased_ with the statement, and since Dean is not one to glory in having something Sam does not, it must be pleasure at the bond, whatever it is, itself.

For the next few weeks, Sam does half hearted research into angelic bonds (about which there is _nothing_ by the way), just to reassure himself that Cas and Dean aren’t tied to one another in some mystic, cosmic way that is going to bite them in the ass later, but he can find nothing and Dean’s behaviour hasn’t changed so after a while he drops it. He doesn’t forget it though, and, as the evidence stacks up, and he gets his soul returned, he dwelt on it more and more. He remembered how quick Dean had been – always is – to call Cas for help or advice, he remembered the indefinable look in his eyes, glee and smugness and ha! I win yes, but something more, pure pleasure at seeing the angel when Cas had popped in behind him. He remembered the look of hurt as Dean’s heavy duty walls came down behind his eyes when the angel implicitly stated that Dean didn’t matter.

It really wasn’t his fault it made him wonder.

**Now**

_“Seriously! You’re going to bring up the_ bond _thing again? Like the temper tantrum you threw when that happened wasn’t enough. Cas rescued me_ from hell _Sam. He touched my soul and angels are all into that shit.”_

 _“He_ touched your soul _?”_

_“I know how it sounds, but if you say one freakin’ word I will separate your head from your body so shut up. It’s only girly when it’s a metaphor. This is literal.”_

_“So you and Cas really aren’t...”_

_“No Sam, no. We really aren’t. Jesus, you’ve spent your whole life with me, you think you’d have noticed if I liked guys.”_

_“I just thought-”_

_“You know what your problem is Sam?”_

_Sam shook his head, chastised by the hurt and humiliation he’d unwillingly put on Dean’s face. This was all his soulless self’s fault for cataloguing all these tiny details without having the instincts and gut deep certainty of his brother bourn of a lifetime of interaction to even it out. “No,” he said, softly._

_“You spend too much time on those damn fansites that Becky girl liked you to. I told you you shouldn’t have given her your email address!”_


	5. TGFI or Sam Either Pranks Dean Brilliantly, or does what he Thinks is a Nice Thing for his Big Brother and his Assumed Boyfriend, but Dean is too Embarrassed to Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Part of the Dean and the Internet series, but this one is inspired by, and based on, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1u5Q9TevjU&list=UUCA-cwGckMtrhixhlsL-btQ&index=1&feature=plcp. Dean and Cas relax during the apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 for some swearing.  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the SPN characters, though I’d love a Winchester for my birthday. The youtube video showcases the video talent of ramseybaggs http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1u5Q9TevjU&list=UUCA-cwGckMtrhixhlsL-btQ&index=1&feature=plcp, TGFI by Katy Perry, from which the title (well, some of it) is also taken.  
> Warning/Spoilers: Mentions of slash for humour purposes. Set mid season 5 and sometime before the end of the previous chapter.  
> Genre: Humour. This is all supposed to be funny; no offense is intended to either Destiel or Wincest fans and it should not be taken seriously by anyone.

Dean awoke slowly. He spent a moment trying to work out if the pounding in his head was _in_ his head or if someone was actually trying to stave his head in with an iron spiked mallet. Eventually, he was forced to conclude the former and slowly, painfully, cracked open his gritty eyes. The room looked like a tornado had blown through it. A tornado that had first stopped at a liquor store and a little girl’s fairy princess party and deposited the debris of those visits all over the carpet. Even without sitting up he could make out at least one ominous stain. And there was warmth at his back which told him Sam had co-opted his bed so something must’ve happened to that one, beyond the obvious rucking of blankets he could see.

He didn’t groan, because he suspected the pounding in his head might increase if he did anything to tell it he was awake. He moved his eyes around as much as he could from his stationary position and noted the pint of water and little white pills set on the nightstand for when he finally mustered the energy to move, and the conveniently placed, plastic bag lined, trash can by his head, thankfully unused. Sam had also considerately managed to wrestle him out of his copious layers and ever present steel-toe capped boots meaning that, painfully hung-over state notwithstanding, he actually felt comfortable instead of twisted up and far too hot.

The thought slowly trooped through his mind that if Sam was sober enough to do all that, while Dean was catatonic enough to let him, he must’ve started drinking, and drinking heavily, alone. He ran a slow tongue over moss encrusted teeth. What had happened to lead him to that? He tried to bully his sluggish brain into remembering the night. He remembered finishing up the hunt. He remembered Cas turning up, but not with any more information, just his new nightly ritual of checking up on them. And then...And then...

He shook his head and instantly regretted it. Everything after that was nothing but a whiskey flavoured blur. Slowly, painfully, he levered himself up on his elbows, and a fond smile tugged at his lips as he saw Sammy, balled under the mound of covers in his own bed, only from this new slightly elevated angle was the tuft of brown hair showing. It filled him with a deep, healing warmth to know that, even when it was completely and utterly his own fault, Sammy had his back, even to the point of sleeping in Dean’s usual bed to be the first line of defence between his incapacitated brother and whatever could have come through the door. He tried to lever himself up further, to see if he could perhaps reach the water that might wash some of the sick zombie breath feeling out of his mouth, but a wave of nausea washed over him and he collapsed back on the drool soaked pillow with a sigh of defeat. Sammy gave a sleepy snurfle beside him and inched closer to his warmth.

Dean closed his eyes, and slowly began to wonder how it was that there was a sleepy Sam in his usual bed, sober enough to have made sure that Dean’s transition from drunken stupor to hung-over living death would be as seamless as possible, and another seeking his warmth under the suddenly too confining blankets. By inches, he rolled over, and found himself facing a familiar dark head. For a moment he couldn’t figure out what was wrong, beyond the obvious problems of two Sam’s. _I love the kid, I do, but one is enough._ But the more he stared at the head, and the more familiar it grew, he suddenly realised that it wasn’t _Sam’s_ familiar head. “ _Cas_?!” Dean yelped, horror struck.

Cas rolled over in the same laborious way Dean had just done, and Dean scooted backwards as quickly as he could without his stomach doing acrobatics as he found himself almost nose to nose with the angel. “You are very close,” said Cas in a gravel and whiskey version of his usual deep voice.

“Sssshhhh,” said Dean, panicked at the thought of Sam waking and seeing them like this as the huge blank that was his evening took on new horrible possibilities. He ran a quick systems check, there was no pain _down there_ none at all, and he was pretty sure there would be, but maybe he’d...it would be just like him to get an angel into bed and then refuse to be the girl. And he didn’t remember Sam at all, maybe Sam had come in after and hadn’t noticed, or had thought Cas was a girl from a bar, or...Dean’s mind ran out of hopeful alternatives, “Sssshhhh,” he said again.

“You are very close,” Cas obligingly whispered with a slow blink at odd human behaviour, somehow managing to sound even louder than before.

“What happened?” Dean demanded, clutching the blanket to his chest.

“To what are you referring?”

“Dude,” Dean hissed, face flushing, “Did you get me into bed?”

Cas’ face furrowed as he thought. “I do not believe so. I remember very little after the thirty seventh bottle.”

“Thirty seven _beers_?”

“Whiskey.”

“Shit...you’ve just destroyed Jimmy’s liver.”

“What does that have to do with me getting you into bed?”

Dean drew back sharply, swallowing hard to keep the reflexive heave at the motion at bay. “When did Sam come in?”

“Sometime after you and I lost consciousness. I assume Sam is the one who helped me out of my clothes and shoes.”

“You...you’re only wearing boxers too?”

Once again Cas blinked slowly. He looked as though he were struggling with the same headache keeping Dean pinned in this position. “I am wearing nothing. I wear nothing under Jimmy’s suit.”

“You’re _naked_?!” Sam snorted in his sleep, and Dean bit off his rising voice. “OK,” he said struggling to calm himself, “This is fine, it’s not awkward. We got to drinking, Sam came in, got us sorted for bed and decided to put us into the same bed so he could...could...watch our backs because he knew we were out of it.” Dean would have nodded fervently if he could have done. “That must be what happened. Now I am going to get up, get a shower, get some pants on and go for coffee and you...you should probably sleep more, you look like crap on toast.”

Cas closed his eyes. “I do not believe you are supposed to say that to someone with whom you wake up after a night of drunken revelry.”

Dean scowled darkly, “Doesn’t count if it’s a guy.”


	6. Glitter or Why You Shouldn’t Pass Out in a Compromising Position Where Your Little Brother will put you to Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Part of the Dean and the Internet series, but this one is inspired by, and based on, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1u5Q9TevjU&list=UUCA-cwGckMtrhixhlsL-btQ&index=1&feature=plcp. Sam walks in on Dean and Cas’ drunken revelry, companion piece to TGIF or Sam Either Pranks Dean Brilliantly, or does what he Thinks is a Nice Thing for his Big Brother and his Assumed Boyfriend, but Dean is too Embarrassed to Ask. Read that piece first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG-13 for some swearing.  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the SPN characters, though I’d love a Winchester for my birthday. The youtube video showcases the video talent of ramseybaggs http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y1u5Q9TevjU&list=UUCA-cwGckMtrhixhlsL-btQ&index=1&feature=plcp, TGIF by Katy Perry, from which the title (well, some of it) is also taken.  
> Warning/Spoilers: Mentions of slash for humour purposes. Set mid season 5 and sometime before the end of the previous fic.  
> Genre: Humour. This is all supposed to be funny; no offense is intended to either Destiel or Wincest fans and it should not be taken seriously by anyone.

The apocalypse was taking its toll. It sounded stupid, even in Sam’s head, that he would think such a thing. Of course the fucking apocalypse took its toll. But it was. And since the loss of Ellen and Jo in a pointless battle that had achieved nothing, and the discovery that the colt, their most powerful weapon, was useless, things had only been getting bleaker. Which was why he was out here now, running. As a kid, laps had used to be John’s most dreaded punishment and Sam had dreaded the regular PT runs dad had inflicted, but as an adult he found the steady pace of his long legs eating up miles in the cool darkness or predawn light soothing. He could drift without really thinking, and besides, if he was truly bone tired he didn’t dream, and if he didn’t dream there was no Lucifer in his head.

He slowed a little as he reached the motel and took a deep breath into his aching lungs. He had been running for hours, fleeing his demons. He was surprised Dean hadn’t called a dozen times actually. When he got back into the room however, it quickly became apparent _why_ he hadn’t. Dean and Castiel were comatose on the sofa surrounded by several dozen empty liquor bottles and what appeared to be several handfuls of silvery glitter. _Shit, I hope Dean only drank a human appropriate amount, and where did they get glitter?_ Sam wasn’t really annoyed though. For a start he was just too tired, he’d run the better part of ten miles and they all relaxed their own way, and drinking had always been a favoured method of Dean’s. At least if there had been any other method of dissipating tension he and Cas had had the decency to get their clothes back on. Besides, Dean just looked so happy. His face was unlined and, in this relaxed, alcohol induced sleep, he looked his real age, without any of the extra years hell had forced on him. He looked like he might wake up with a beaming smile and a demand for _waffles, Sammy_.

Sam knew it was a little creepy, but he couldn’t help but stand at the door for a second, watching with a slightly sappy smile at the picture the two of them made. He had suspected for a while, but this was picture perfect proof, so intimate and adorable that Sam didn’t even feel the little brother urge to take amusing pictures of his brother in the arms of his angel, lightly sprinkled with sparkles. Dean was curled into Cas, his nose pushed into the junction of Cas’ neck and shoulder, Cas’ arm was snugly around his waist, using his angelic strength, even in sleep to hold Dean from rolling off the couch. Sam could see marks on the lower half of one of Dean’s arm where it hung down. They were the sort of marks that could be left by a drunk over-excited person pulling another drunk over-excited person out of the way of walking into something, but Sam just _knew_ that the red fingerprints were left instead from Cas pulling Dean to him as tightly as they both needed. Cas’ features were also marred by a tiny bruise on his chin. The sort you get when an uncoordinated but powerful swing just clips you, but Sam was _sure_ he could see teeth marks ringing it. He sighed. He didn’t feel jealous exactly, if Cas made Dean happy then that was worth any price as far as Sam was concerned. But even all these years later, he sometimes missed Jess, with her bruising grip and sharp teeth in the throes of passion, Jess who loved to be held by him tight and safe and secure. He ached for her, burned for her, and with every flare understood his father all the more.

But Jess was not here, and these two, his brothers, were and right now they needed him. They couldn’t sleep like that. They would be twisted and uncomfortable and Dean at least needed real rest. Sam forced his exhausted, shaking legs to move and crossed to the narrow couch. He looked at it for a long moment. It was not long enough for either Dean or Cas to sleep on comfortably and he was sure as hell not curling up on it. He’d be folded almost in half. _To hell with it. They’re not exactly hiding it. I’ll put them both in the damn bed._ He prodded Dean’s arm experimentally since he was on top. “Dean?” he said.

“S’my,” slurred Dean, opening one bleary eye and promptly closing it again. Sam wasn’t sure whether he had been recognised or whether his name was just reflex. He tugged Dean’s arm anyway.

“Yeah bro, c’mon. Beddy byes.”

Dean was a dead weight, but he was also loose and compliant and Sam hauled him up. Cas made an unhappy noise at the lost warmth. “Yeah yeah, I’ll get him back to you,” he muttered, sitting Dean on the end of his own bed and fisting a hand in his t-shirt to keep him sitting. He hauled the shirt off, lay him down and dragged off his boots, laces fortunately already undone, and jeans. Dean squirmed a little in a way that Sam thought was supposed to be helpful, but was really just a bit pathetic, like a beached fish. He dragged Cas up next. Cas at least opened his eyes.

“Where are we going?” he asked, eyes bright and chirpy, but flitting around the room, from object to object like an ADD hummingbird.

“Bed,” said Sam, succinctly.

“Very well,” said Castiel agreeably, pulling away from Sam to head towards the empty bed.

“No, Cas that’s...that’s mine. Here, share with Dean.”

Cas smiled again, Jimmy’s unrestrained beaming smile. “Very well,” he said again, changing course with an abrupt pirouette and needing Sam to catch him when he wobbled alarmingly.

“So Cas...how much did you two drink?”

“Lots.”

“Yeah but Dean...he didn’t drink like angel quantities right? He didn’t drink...half or anything?”

Castiel shook his head and wobbled alarmingly again. “No. Two. He only drank two. Then he went to sleep.”

“Yeah. You need sleep too.”

“Angels don’t need sleep.”

“That’s because most angels don’t drink sixty percent proof genius. C’mon shoes off. And coat.” He stepped over it as Cas shed the trenchcoat to puddle on the floor in a heap whatever food stuff that orange thing had once been. “You uh...you gonna take off the rest or...oh OK.” He broke off as Cas, with remarkable agility stripped off his shirt and tie, placed the tie almost reverently on Sam’s head and then began to remove the suit pants and _oh awesome, our guardian angel doesn’t wear boxers, I always wanted to know that_ Sam’s inner Dean said, as Sam blushed and averted his eyes. Fortunately Cas seemed able to get into the bed by himself and Sam busied himself sorting out the trash can in case Dean was sick in the night and laying out water and Tylenol for the morning for both human and angel. He spared one last fond, envious, slightly guilty look for the two of them, Dean spread out as was his way and Cas forced to climb almost on top of him to find space for his own limbs but neither seeming to mind.

He decided he wasn’t quite that altruistic, not after being treated to the Cas monty, and took - just one - picture of their innocent sleeping glittery faces, and stripped off his own sweaty running gear before climbing into Dean’s usual bed and rolling to face the door even as his hand sought out the bowie knife Dean kept under the pillow. If tonight was the night, he would be ready.


End file.
